


high fevers and llama bands

by unpileoldfiles



Series: just stray kids things [9]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, idk what this is, maybe? - Freeform, thats the story, there u go, theres like swearing, yay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-12 13:36:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17468582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unpileoldfiles/pseuds/unpileoldfiles
Summary: and besides, jisung considers himself lucky. he's always, always been able to somehow dodge the winter flu that gets to everyone.orjisung should consider counting his blessings because he really isn't that lucky this time around.





	high fevers and llama bands

**Author's Note:**

> this is utter bullshit i hate it sm already im gonna be so embarrassed in the morning that i wrote this.

jisung never really could understand why everyone seemed to hate winter so much. 

it's always been pleasant to him in a way, staying indoors while snow falls or simply enjoying the warmth of a bed with the knowledge that outside is freezing cold. jisung tends to be able to write the most productively during winter, too, which is always a plus in his opinion. 

and besides, jisung considers himself lucky. he's always, always been able to somehow dodge the winter flu that gets to everyone. 

when his brother used to get sick at home, jisung spent hours near him (usually teasing him but then feeling guilty later and doting on him) and somehow he'd always been able to weasel out of it with a stuffed up nose or once in a while a sore throat for a day. 

as a trainee, he'd watched all the other boys around succumb to the illness one after the other, and he'd almost always be one of the ones still standing. he, and the few others who'd managed to avoid being ill, had run back and forth, delivering water and occasionally dialing staff when fevers seemed to get a little bit too high to take care of. 

nowadays, nothing's changed. hyunjin is almost always the first to get sick, because face it. he's got an immune system of a four year old. jisung's learned to tell the signs of when he starts to get sick. usually he gets a runny nose, and then a day later he's an unmovable lump of heat on one of the beds. now, being that hyunjin likes to latch on to everything and everyone, sickness is never hard to spread when it starts with him. 

usually to either changbin or felix first. if it's just one, then the other will get it too, because, well, given reasons. once it's passed felix, jeongin is always next. and if jeongin gets sick, it means seungmin is also very likely to get sick just because that's the way it is. 

and then there'll be a break, and the remainder will feel like maybe they escaped it. but then woojin will come down the stairs looking paler than a ghost, and then chan will catch it, and last but not least, lord and savior minho will fall last and usually the longest, too. 

and jisung always avoids it somehow. they all glare and huff in his direction when another winter of his passes without so much of a cough, and he'll just grin smugly back at them with an exaggerated shrug. ("how is it _my_ fault your immune systems suck?")

until one dreaded winter comes by filled with snow, ice, and chilling wind force, and jisung wakes up one morning wondering if someone's dropped an iron block on his head and left it there to crush his brain slowly. 

the sunlight's bouncing off the snow and rebounding into their room through the window, directly above jisung's top bunk so it falls right in his eyes. jisung opens his eyes, shuts them, and groans long and loud. 

because it's really fucking cold, his head really fucking hurts, and he seriously wants to die. 

bunching himself up into a tiny little heap under his blankets does absolutely nothing, he finds out, because he's still shivering even under his comforter and never mind all the good things jisung has ever said about winter because no, he hates it and winter can go melt in hell. 

"jisung, you've been sleeping all day, get your lazy ass up." 

someone prods him and he groans again because they need to stop talking and why is it so fucking cold in here? he was sure the heat had been on last night. 

"hyung, what's wrong with him?" 

"i have no idea? do we get chan-hyung? felix, go get chan-hyung."

"why do i have to go get chan-hyung? why can't you go get chan-hyung?" 

jisung curls up tighter and shoves his hands over his ears. was felix's voice always this loud? because right now it's reverberating through his skull and sending lovely bright pain signals to his brain. 

"okay, yeah, i'm gonna go get chan-hyung." 

the process of getting chan-hyung is way too short, because literally two seconds later someone new is trying to pry his blankets off of him, and jisung is not about to let him do it because there's literally a layer of frost on his skin because of how cold he is and his blanket is the only protection from the wrath of winter that he has. 

and then there's a hand on his forehead that's adding even more pressure onto his already throbbing head and he claws it off of his skin. his head seriously fucking hurts. it's like someone's trying out a new drum sequence in his head but without music sheets and instead is just repeatedly clashing the cymbals. but in this case, the cymbals are jisung's temples and they're being beat and it seriously hurts, holy shit. 

the only thing, the only coherent thought that makes its way through the tangle in his brain is, oh fuck, they had something planned for today, right? had it been practice? not practice--music bank. 

their performance on music bank--no, that's _next_ thursday--what was today, then? jisung can't remember, and he can't be bothered through the stupid drum practice session of whoever's still banging the goddamn cymbals in his head. 

he's sure someone is talking, who, he's not sure about, but someone is talking. 

but the ice still coating his skin and the blaring of the drums in his head is enough to send him back into dreamland, and sleep sounds great right now. 

the next time he wakes up, he's somewhere that is definitely not his bed. he is also somewhere that is definitely not warm and soft and he's also somewhere that is still really fucking cold. 

and there's an ugly little nagging in the bottom of his stomach that's making him ridiculously uncomfortable, and he feels disgusting. he genuinely cannot remember the last time he's felt this awful and the worst part is that he can't even tell why. 

at this point jisung's pretty sure he should try to make an effort to sit up, wherever he is, but the thought of moving seems so repulsive at the moment and jisung just wants the stupid gross feeling in his stomach to go away but it's still there and it's traveling in all different directions in its attempt to make him even more miserable and he doesn't know what's happening--

and before his brain can catch up with his body, jisung follows his instincts, rolls over, and empties the contents of his stomach onto the hardwood floor. 

the floor. 

so that's where he is. 

"oh, fuck, jisung--" someone's hovering above him then, someone whose face is extremely blurry. probably a combination of the fact that he doesn't have his glasses on, and the fact that his eyes are all bleary and weird. 

"what's going on?" someone else asks, and though there are only two voices, they're still completely muddled up in jisung's brain. 

and he remembers that he actually completely hates throwing up, and this is exactly why. the worst part is that the discomfort isn't even gone, just mildly less present now that whatever he's eaten in the past twenty-four hours has made a reappearance. 

jisung rolls back over and flings his arm over his eyes--why is he even on the floor, why is the floor so cold, and why won't the people standing next to him literally just shut up? their talking is making his head pound even more and jisung's not too fond of throwing up again. 

he zones back in just long enough to catch a final snippet--maybe it's hyunjin talking, or seungmin? then again, it could be woojin. but woojin also sounds strangely like minho--or changbin? maybe it's changbin--of the conversation. 

"han jisung, you never make things simple, do you?" 

jisung decides right about then that yes, sleep is the cleanest option at the moment, and he's back into dreamland. 

the funny thing is, he can't tell if he's dreaming or not. he thinks that probably he is, since he's standing on top of a mountain with a llama next to him and he's like, 35% sure there wasn't a llama next to him before. then again, jisung can't really remember anything, so it's also very likely that somehow he has acquired a llama and he's not dreaming. 

see, the thing is, that the llama's wearing some woolen multi-colored yarn parka thing, and it looks very warm. jisung, on the other hand, is wearing a thin t-shirt and sweatpants, and for some reason he's soaked in ice cold water, and he's shivering. 

he asks the llama if he can borrow the yarn parka, but the llama actually has the audacity to shake its head smugly at him and tell him no. and jisung doesn't even have time to be offended, because a gust of wind knocks him off the mountain then and he lands in a bunch of snow. 

but the llama floats down next to him--with a drum set, and then somehow other llamas with the same ugly woolen parka materialize out of nowhere with electric guitars and keyboards, and they start playing a number completely out of tune and extremely loudly, and jisung is left in his sad little patch of snow in a soaked cold t-shirt and a raging band of woolen parka llamas playing their very loud, very off-key rendition of "shoot me" next to him. 

but then suddenly he's not on the mountain any more, and there are no llamas, and he's definitely not in snow. what jisung does notice, however, is that he's still soaked, for some reason, still cold, and it still feels like the llama band is playing next to him even if it isn't there anymore. 

or maybe it is. he can't tell. 

he can't tell where he is, either--he's not on the floor, though. or maybe the floor decided to be nice to him and get all soft. jisung decides he likes the floor, if that's where he is. 

"earth to jisung, are you there?" 

jisung forces his brain to click back to the present, which, bad idea, because ouch. why the fuck is his head still pounding, it's literally been there for months. or hours. they feel the same to him right now. 

and it's still fucking freezing, and he's still soaking wet, which he wants an explanation for. 

"jisung?"

jisung groans. 

hey, it's more of an answer, right? besides, saying the word 'what' seems like it'll take a lot of unnecessary effort jisung isn't willing to give out right now. 

but then, jisung rolls over again--seriously, where the fuck is he?--to face a person who's sitting cross legged on the floor. 

floor. 

work, brain, work. if this person is on the floor, it means jisung is probably on the couch. 

huh. 

also, he's given up trying to figure out who said person is because their face is still all blurry and opening his eyes all the way is more effort than talking. 

"who are you?" jisung asks, and he doesn't even think about the stupidity of the question. he needs to know who the hell this fucker is and if they can stop the band practice of the llamas. 

"who--am i?" the person asks, confused, and jisung groans even louder. they're trying to kill him, huh? but death doesn't actually seem all that bad right now. hey, if he dies, he won't have to feel so fucking awful. 

also, saying words has made him realize that someone's switched his throat out for a very active chopping board on which knives have been chopping away all day because it hurts. 

"it's hyunjin, jisung." 

hyunjin. 

hyun--jin? hyunjin.

yes. jisung knows who hyunjin is. hyunjin is very pretty, jisung thinks, even though his face is all blurry. he has pretty eyes. 

maybe hyunjin is supernatural. and if he's supernatural, maybe he can magically wish away whatever the hell is happening to jisung. 

hyunjin snorts. 

"what the heck are you even saying, sung?" 

jisung groans again. talking is way too hard. sleep sounds better. 

"wait, no--jisung no don't--go to sleep again, i have to--oh, whatever, i'll do it next time you wake up." 

the llamas better stay the fuck away, jisung thinks, as he somehow falls asleep for the fourth time that day. 

the fifth time he wakes up is better. for his brain, not for him physically, because physically he still feels like absolute shit and wow, he does not remember being this nauseous going to sleep. 

he can actually pinpoint the nausea now, which is probably not a good thing, but someone sitting by him seems to notice his dilemma because they sit him up and shove the trash can into his lap. 

but the trash can only reminds jisung of how much he seriously hates throwing up. he will not do it, and no one is gonna force him to, either. jisung squeezes his eyes shut and takes deep breaths, riding out the nausea slowly. rocking side to side is helpful too, he finds, so he ends up swaying back and forth in an attempt to keep whatever's in him inside of him. 

he shoves it away gently when he's pretty sure he's not gonna chuck up his stomach's contents again, and slumps back against the pillows. pillows? there hadn't been pillows when he'd woken up last.

well, at least he thinks there hadn't been pillows when he'd woken up last. he doesn't really remember. but the bed he's in now is significantly warmer than the floor, and he's pleased about that. still, he's shivering under the (three?) blankets piled on top of him. 

"jesus fucking christ why won't you go away?" jisung groans, shoving his head into his hands when he realizes the damned fucking headache is still very much present behind his eyes and he kind of wants to claw them out because now they're burning and throbbing too. 

can eyes even throb? jisung had never thought they could, but he's being proven wrong right now. 

the only positive thing is that talking hurts a tiny bit less and he's coherent (at least, he hopes he's coherent) enough to be aware of the people around him. speaking of, there's still a person sitting on the edge of his bed. 

actually, there are two people on the bed instead of one, now that he gives himself the leeway to look closer, two shapes instead of one. 

minho, one of them is, jisung is pretty sure, and the other one looks faintly like chan but could potentially also be hyunjin because they're both broad. 

"hey," chan smiles at him, (it is chan, hah), "how are you feeling?" 

"just great and dandy. i love having a fucking hammer drumming into my skull on a good day." 

"oh lord and holy grail above, you're not drunk anymore." minho raises his hands to the sky, and jisung glares at him before realizing that, oh, bad idea, ouch. "we had to change your shirt, like, nineteen times, you literally looked like you took a shower," minho continues. 

oh. that explains the freezing water he'd been soaked in. he's fairly sure the llamas had been a dream, anyways. 

"you always gotta go be damn extra about things, huh? you couldn't have even gotten the normal sickness like the rest of us, oh no, you had to go catch some stomach bug instead." 

"shut up minho," chan shoves minho, "are you feeling any better?" 

jisung shakes his head through his hands because absolutely not, he feels the same as he did when he'd woken up. 

"no." 

"well, you're not mumbling about the llamas anymore, so that's definitely a plus. you scared the shit out of hyunjin," minho laughs loudly. "he came running into our bedroom with his eyes literally big as plates freaking out about how he thought you were going insane." 

jisung groans (it's a very effective method of communication, he's found) and drops his head back into his hands. the situation's actually pretty funny and jisung probably would have laughed had he not been ready to do surgical operation on himself in order to find the source of the headache and get it the fuck out of his temples. 

"jisung?" 

"ouch." 

when he opens his eyes again, chan (and minho now, too) looks decently worried for his expense. 

"you know," minho says thoughtfully, tapping his chin, "you look like a ghost. who got dipped in flour. but like, with raccoon eyes." 

"minho!" chan smacks minho's shoulder and minho yelps, pulling away. "will you throw up the pills if i try to get you to take them?" 

jisung shrugs half-heartedly, slumping back further and shutting his eyes. 

"i dunno. maybe. probably." 

"how are you _still_ tired?" minho asks wonderingly. 

"my head feels like it's gonna fucking _explode_." 

and for the nth time that day, jisung blacks out. and this time, there are no llamas. just a dark, blank hole of absolutely nothing. 

it's dark outside when his eyes fly open a while later, and he can just kind of sort of make out the conversation that's happening somewhere beneath him, probably the floor next to his bed. 

the nausea is still very much present in his stomach and his head is still very much drumming away, but there's nothing much he can do about it other than lay very, very still and try not to move. while also attempting to understand the conversation. 

"--dunno. he woke up a while back for a bit." 

"was he--y'know,-- _sane?"_

hey. that's offensive. jisung is offended. it's not his fault the llamas refused to share their woolen parkas with him when he'd been both soaking wet and freezing. and he's very much sane, thank you. he doesn't appreciate being slandered like this. 

"yeah, he's not delirious. i think he was kind of out of it still--he said something about his head exploding, but he passed out pretty fast." 

jisung knows the first person talking is definitely minho, but he cannot for the life of him figure out who the heck is talking to minho. he knows that voice--deep, but not exactly deep, with a familiar rasp lingering on its undertones, but he can't seem to put face to name at the moment. 

"did he eat anything today?" 

"he was literally _asleep_ half the day and mumbling about llamas and parkas the other half, i don't think he had _time_ to eat." 

this is also not jisung's fault, the llamas were being _mean_. 

and when jisung decides he's had enough of their slander, he tries to get his body to sit up. he's stiff and achy and somehow the frost on the outside of his skin seems to have grown ice crystals inside of him because he's cold in a way that settles in his bones, cold in a way that the heater and the blankets can't seem to reach. 

"i'm gonna go see if i can boil water. make him drink something, at least. he looked like a vampire the last time he woke up." 

and when one of the people's footsteps recede, jisung pushes himself up and shuts his eyes when the room starts to spin. 

"jisung!" changbin (oh, it had been changbin. oh, the voice was so changbin's, how had jisung not realized before?) pops up with a smile, jumping to sit cross legged in front of him on the bed. 

"you hanging in there?" 

the issue with changbin's question is that the answer is no, he's not hanging in there. to be completely honest, he's really fucking tired of feeling sick. he knows how much the rest of them have gone through and that whatever's happening to him right now is not the same. they'd all complained of runny noses and lost voices, not freakishly demonic headaches and persisting nausea. 

jisung stops to think. maybe it's the fact that every winter he's escaped getting sick during (there's seventeen of them up until now) are piled up and acting on him now. 

it doesn't matter, though. jisung feels awful and he's really goddamn sick of feeling awful and sure, the llamas had been amusing at first but now the only thing jisung's brain is willing to process is the idea of furious fiery pain.

and jisung shouldn't be surprised--after all, it's only been a day since he's gone down and he's been asleep most of the day but literally everything hurts. 

jisung drops his head and sighs, closing his lids again to block out the burning of his eyes. 

"jisung?" changbin's voice has gone soft and kind of muted. 

jisung snaps up suddenly when he realizes the turning of his stomach isn't gonna work out in his favor this time. 

"i think i'm gonna be sick." 

and faster than jisung's ever seen him move before, changbin leaps up and shoves the little mini trash into his lap and it swirls downhill from there. thankfully, the bout's over when minho steps back into the room with a cup of something that's still emitting steam.

"oh--what happened?" 

changbin only lifts the trash with a grimace and steps away with it, and jisung puts down the bottle of water changbin had somehow produced from somewhere and shoved into his hand. 

"jesus christ, jisung, which town did you destroy in an alternate world?" minho says, shaking his head jokingly as he takes a seat next to jisung. he sets the cup down on the bedside table and pulls the blankets up a little bit. 

minho probably takes it as a sign that he should shut up when jisung only hangs his head again and draws in a deep breath, because he closes his mouth and puts a hand on his back instead. 

"can you try drinking something?" 

the thought of ingesting anything is honestly revolting at the moment and jisung is a good 94% sure that it'll come back up in a few seconds if he drinks it. 

"no?" minho sighs softly and pats his back twice before getting up. "it's okay. try in a little while, though, it's best if you get something in you." 

"wait--" jisung stops short, and minho turns around. 

"what did i miss?" 

"what do you mean, sung?" 

"what was--i supposed to go to today?" 

minho purses his lips. 

"a radio show. that's okay, we told the hosts you weren't feeling well and they made us do a whole segment about praying to genies so you get better or something. changbin stayed back with you, though." 

he did? funny, jisung doesn't remember changbin staying back. then again, he doesn't remember much other than the llamas, either. 

"he did?"

minho smiles. 

"yeah, it was kinda funny, honestly. felix dragged him in when they found out something was wrong with you and he basically refused to leave the room you were in all day. it's cute." 

and he turns back around and heads out with the cup of what he supposes is tea in his hands. and great, now jisung can feel guilty on top of feeling really fucking awful because now he's held back changbin, too. 

speaking of, changbin steps back into the room with the cleaned out garbage and sets it cautiously beside jisung's bed. 

"i'm sorry," jisung says softly, playing with his fingers. 

changbin looks at him, confused. 

"what for?" 

"you stayed." 

"lee minho, you dipshit--" changbin grumbles, shaking his head, "--oh, whatever. i stayed because i wanted to, not because i had to, so shut up before i smack you and make that--llama band or whatever--in your head even worse." 

jisung flushes. "shut up." 

changbin smiles. 

"it really was funny, though. they were gone for like, three hours, and i forgot to tell hyunjin you were kinda delirious, so when he walked in you were going crazy about some llama refusing to share his jacket with you and hyunjin freaked out. i swear i nearly cried laughing when he came in." 

jisung sighs. 

"it's cold in here." 

"but the heat is turned up all the way?" changbin phrases it more like a question, and points at the blankets, "and you've literally got three of those on you." 

jisung shrugs. 

"still cold." 

changbin purses his lips and gets up. 

"think you can try to down any painkillers? it'd make that headache of yours better." 

now, taking painkillers does sound tempting, because jisung's head feels like it's about to burst open, but he's very not sure if he can even keep down whatever he'll be given. he's almost certain it'll be making a reappearance an hour later if he tries, and he doesn't really feel like ejecting his guts again. 

has he mentioned he hates throwing up? 

and so, tempting as it may be, jisung shakes his head. 

"wouldn't work anyways. it'd be back up in ten minutes," he says defeatedly. 

"maybe in those ten minutes some of it will get into your bloodstream?" changbin tries, and jisung shakes his head. 

"i don't really feel like removing my insides again." 

"i don't really know what to tell you then, jisung. all you can do is wait it out, i guess." changbin shrugs, tossing a towel over his shoulder and picking up an empty glass from the table. 

"i'm gonna take this to the laundry real quick. yell if you need something, okay? i'm sure someone will come running within five seconds." 

and jisung is left alone to dwell over his misery. actually, now that he thinks about it, he's pretty sure he liked it better when he'd had llamas to hang out with, no matter how mean they'd been. at least when he'd been delirious he'd felt less of the headache than he does now. 

he muffles a cough into his shoulder and looks down at his apparel. what he's wearing is definitely not his own--jeongin's, maybe? he's pretty sure the gray hoodie he's got on belongs to jeongin because it's way too long on him. also he's pretty sure he's seen jeongin wear it before. 

the hours pass by and the sky outside gets darker, and jisung lays there wallowing in his sorrows. he doesn't call, and no one comes, and he's both extremely achy and extremely lonely. 

they've probably been told to leave him alone. and seriously, it's kind of getting ridiculous--how is the room still even cold? at least some of his frost has to have melted by now, right? but it hasn't, and that's the issue. 

and frankly, jisung's really tired of being cold. he's not sure he even remembers what it feels like to be at a comfortable internal temperature anymore. 

he dozes off a couple of times, and only for a few minutes before he wakes back up again sweating profusely. another thing he doesn't understand. he's cold and he's still sweating. how is that even possible? it really defies all sense of logic. 

it's somewhere in the pinpoint middle of the night when the ugly tumbling makes a reappearance somewhere in the pits of his stomach and jisung's had enough. he's pretty sure he's read somewhere that mint tea reduces nausea, and so even though walking seems unappealing and consuming something seems even more unappealing, jisung forces his legs over the edge of the bed and begins his long, tormenting journey to the kitchen. 

hyunjin's been on a health kick recently, and he's stock loaded a whole cabinet with literally twenty different types of herbal tea. jisung's sure there's got to be a mint in there somewhere, mixed into one of the blends or shoved in the back behind citrus and for some reason, honeydew. 

walking proves harder than he'd seemed it to be, because clearly he's overestimated his ability to move in a straight line. he probably looks like a drunkard, wobbling all over the place and using the hallway wall as support, but no one's watching and if they were, he couldn't have found it in him to care anyways. 

searching through the cabinets proves to be another ordeal of its own. when he reaches the kitchen, the floor becomes extremely inviting all of a sudden because everything starts to spin and he literally feels his stomach lurch threateningly. 

so he lets himself fall on the floor with a since and curl up into a tiny ball on the kitchen tiles. he's not too sure how long he stays curled in his fetus position, but its a while before he hears approaching footsteps and a slight clearing of someone's throat. 

"uh, jisung-hyung?" 

fuck. it's jeongin. actually, jisung realizes, he hasn't seen jeongin all day long. which isn't a bad thing, because he looks like shit (and feels like it, might he add) and he's not sure he wants to be seen by people like that. 

also, he's still wearing what he presumes to be jeongin's hoodie, which jeongin would literally never let him do on any other day. ("it's mine, hyung, you have ten thousand of your own!")

jisung hides his face in his arms and brings his legs up to his chest. 

"um, why are you on the floor?" 

jisung shrugs, decides he's got nothing left to lose, and uncovers his face with a groan. the floor, he discovers, while doing nothing for his body heat, is helping ward off the headache. maybe he'll just stay on the floor. it's not completely uncomfortable. 

"i like the floor," jisung counters. 

"it's like, two in the morning, hyung, what are you doing in the kitchen? shouldn't you be in bed?" 

see, now jisung would explain his predicament, but the story is so long and it doesn't seem worth trying to explain all of it. he's not sure his brain will even cooperate long enough for him to form coherent sentences to explain anyways, and frankly his head might explode if he tries to talk. 

that, or he'll just throw up again, all over the tiles. 

either way, it won't be pretty. 

and so he settles for shrugging again and wrapping his arms tighter around his torso. and logically, it won't do anything for his insides, but it'll provide him enough comfort to make him believe it's helping the nausea since making mint tea is out of the question now. 

"shouldn't you?" he asks, and it's only then that he notices his voice is hoarse and breathy and it sounds like one of those cackling witches from macbeth's voice. 

"i heard someone walking," jeongin explains, still hovering over jisung awkwardly. "are you okay?" 

"peachy." 

"should i get--" 

" _no_ ," jisung says firmly, "you should leave me here to suffer in peace, thank you." 

jeongin looks extremely conflicted about what he's supposed to do. jisung kind of just wants him to go away, because the situation at hand is extremely embarrassing and he'd very much like to feel his head explode by himself. 

"come on," jeongin says next, holding out a hand and nodding to himself, as if he's made an important decision. 

jisung shakes his head. absolutely not. he is not moving. not in a hundred years is jeongin gonna get him off the floor. 

jeongin gets him off the floor. 

well, he looks at him with big giant puppy eyes and a pout, and what is jisung supposed to do? say no? so he lets jeongin help him up, which is also extremely embarrassing, and jeongin has to support basically all his weight to the couch, which is even more embarrassing. 

"why are you so light?" jeongin asks as he sets jisung down gently (which is saying something on its own, usually he dumps jisung off wherever he can as fast as he can). 

"why are you so tall?" jisung grumbles, burying his face into the couch cushions and curling up again. he really, really doesn't want to have to be sick again, but the nausea is proving otherwise at the moment. 

throwing up is an awful, disgusting feeling and he doesn't want to have to experience it again any time soon. it looks like his stomach has other plans for him, though, and he hasn't even eaten anything. 

"oh jesus fuck--" jisung spits, getting up and sprinting to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach again. 

"i really think i should go get chan-hyung--" jeongin says nervously, hovering outside the bathroom door, "--or maybe minho-hyung. or changbin-hyung. or seungmin-hyung."

and, well, jisung can't really stop him, because he's kind of busy at the moment. turns out jeongin doesn't have to go get anyone, though, because a wide-eyed seungmin shows up outside the bathroom door with sympathy on his face. 

"oh no--" he swerves around jeongin and walks into the bathroom, plopping down cross-legged next to jisung and rubbing his back. 

"you good?" he asks, when jisung slumps back and runs a hand wearily down his face. he nods, and seungmin gives him a smile, helping him up. jeongin still hovers in the doorway, clearly unsure of what he's supposed to do. 

"you can go to bed, innie, i got it," seungmin says as they walk past (walk--more like seungmin pretty much carries jisung's weight on one shoulder), laying a hand on his shoulder. 

the rest of the night is restless and uncomfortable, and seungmin stays with him the entire time, and jisung does not deserve seungmin. or changbin. or any of them, to be completely honest. 

when the sun rises, the others trickle out of their rooms one by one. 

jisung stays immobile on the couch, huddled into seungmin's side when chan walks into the living room, a grimace on his face and his phone in his hand. 

"jisungie, pd-nim called," he starts, sitting down on the floor next to the couch. "tomorrow's the kbs stage. the jyp nation one. and--you're part of the rap stage." 

oh fuck. 

so that's what jisung had forgotten. he knew something was happening. he completely knew something was happening, but yesterday he hadn't been able to put his finger on it. 

"he wants me to tell you you're still going to have to perform," chan says slowly, apologetically. 

and while jisung is not one to want to let people down, he acknowledges the fact that he can barely stand up at the moment let alone try to be charismatic or whatever on a stage in front of hundreds of people. 

seungmin tenses up next to him. 

"chan-hyung, he can barely even stand. how the hell is he supposed to perform?" 

chan bites his lip and looks down, shaking his head. 

"i fought with management for a full half hour. the most i got was that they'll let him home early right after part 2 of the show. i don't--i don't know what i'm supposed to do. i don't know what _jisung_ is supposed to do," he mumbles. 

"he performs," jisung mutters quietly, rubbing his temples. 

chan looks up sharply. 

"what?" 

"if they say i have to perform then i guess i have to perform. and that's--" jisung's voice breaks and they all wince, "and that's that." 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> if i end up finishing it there'll be plot in the next chapter and then that's it. i'm gonna hate this in the morning i already know i'm gonna cringe at myself like crazy but its cool what can ya do 
> 
> yea idk what this is im so sorry


End file.
